


Shades of Indigo

by LemonSugarcube



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And Some Happy Shit, Canonical Character Death, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Smut, Goatboi, Got Some Sad Shit, Hurt/Comfort, Idiot Julian, Julian is a Human Disaster, Julian is also a Masochist, Light BDSM, M/M, Mercenary Lucio (The Arcana), Mostly Chronological Order, My Apprentice is an Enabler, Oral Sex, Plague, Somewhat Cohesive Ficlet Timeline!, Sweet Asra (The Arcana), Tattoos, Trashcan Lucio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonSugarcube/pseuds/LemonSugarcube
Summary: A collection of relatively stand-alone, wordy ficlets that revolve around my Apprentice, Caelestra, as he navigates his feelings for foolish doctors, mysterious magicians, and unfortunate goat-men, with an added smattering of Asra/Julian thrown in for taste and some Julian/Lucio as a guilty side-dish. Mostly kept in chronological order, with a couple of exceptions made for flashbacks and such.I'm also open for prompts and requests, so don't be shy. Caelestra's versatile, and I'm addicted.





	1. Plague

 

Three days ago, it had all been fine. He had been standing behind the counter of the shop, fussing over new items, counting incense sticks and gemstones out by hand as Asra fiddled around in the back, humming some sort of mystic tune to himself. Purple smoke had pervaded the air in a manner that he’d called comforting, and he felt truly and utterly at ease. At _home._

Now, he could no longer breathe without pain jolting stark and hot through every nerve in his body.   
  
Caelestra. Prakran, once a vision of perfect health with sun-kissed skin, vivid eyes and hair of indigo, was now nothing more than a shell of himself, lying upon his back on a decrepit cot with blood clouding his eyes and choking his airways. Every inhalation and exhalation was _excruciating,_ and though it was frightening, though he could feel the fear of his own mortality clawing at his consciousness like a rabid dog, the thought of dying didn’t frighten him nearly as much as the fact that he was facing death alone.

_Where was Asra? Julian?_

_Anyone?  
  
_Trembling bodily, he shut his eyes, tuning out the wails and coughs that ricocheted off the stone walls of the Lazaret. The ailing sounds of the dying around him were as endless and pervasive as the smell of smoke, crawling down into his core and affixing to his heart. How long, he thought, would it be before that was him? Before the pain drove him to scream out for mercy that he just wouldn’t receive?  
  
Not long enough.  
  
He sat up abruptly, weak strands of hair falling into his face as he curled over himself, body wracked with hacking cough, blood spraying from between his cracked lips with each wretched motion. He pressed his hand to his chest as he tried in vain to catch his breath, succeeding only in coughing up more blood onto his dingy sheets as his suffering finally drew the attention of one of the many long-toiling attendants of the sanitarium. The man, wearing an expression of relative sympathy and dressed in simplistic, soot-stained clothing, shuffled over to his side, placing a hand on his bony shoulder. Caelestra barely registered the pressure of its weight, looking up at him with bleary eyes and blood dripping steadily from his nose and mouth. All he could taste and smell was the stinging iron of blood upon the back of his tongue. _Everywhere._  
  
“Hey, hey now,” the man said, voice soft and unassuming, “Everything’s gonna be alright. You’ll be fine, just…take some deep breaths, okay? In and out.”  
  
Every word was a lie. Caelestra knew it, the attendant knew it, but neither of them would confront it. Thus, he just gave a weak nod and lay back down, forcing himself to take slow, wheezing breaths that did nothing for his level of comfort. The man, in his wisdom, watched long enough to ensure that Caelestra was not going to die right then and there, a courtesy that Caelestra suspected was just part of his job. Once he was satisfied that he did not have to deal with another plague-ridden cadaver, he turned away and sought out one of his supervisors, a woman lingering in the doorway to the room that bore a sheaf of parchment and a clean coat that was not nearly as stained as that of the attendant.   
  
Though it felt as if he was listening in on their conversation with his head buried under several feet of murky water, Caelestra still caught a few words as they were spoken in hushed tones, clearly not meant for the many patients to hear.   
  
“Doctor, I…I don’t think that one is going to last the night,” said the attendant, gesturing towards Caelestra’s form, “He’s gotten real bad, real quick. I think we should be ready.”  
  
The woman, wearing a mask that obscured most of her face, just shrugged, heaving a sigh that shook her lanky form. “Well, just get things ready for the disposal of the body. The incinerators have been running since the morning due to the influx we’ve had from the city, so…it really shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll take care of the paperwork in the meantime, though. You remember his name?”  
  
“Cael…something. Caelan? Cael….Caelestra. That’s it. Caelestra. I heard that he was a magician, but…”  
  
“Right. I’ll make note. Good luck.”  
  
Without another word, the doctor and the attendant turned away to tend to other patients, leaving Caelestra to think about the condemnation they’d dealt to him with such sickening surety. So, he was not going to last the night?   
  
A breathless, pained chuckle left him. His heart ached, but for once, it was not the plague’s doing. When he shut his eyes, refusing to look upon the dullness of the ceiling and the floating of the ash above him any longer, it was _his_ face that he saw, all smiling, tawny lips and soft, snowy curls, cascading around perfect, intriguing features. More than anything, more than _life_ he wanted him near, but as always, he was gone, out of reach, out of touch, and now…well, now he was out of time. There was just no way Asra would make it to his side before the plague claimed his life, and the thought of it, the thought of Asra’s expression when he learned of Caelestra’s death was enough to rend his heart in two. It drew a muted whimper from him, and unbidden, hot tears began to flow from his eyes, slipping down his sallow cheeks to pool in the hollows of his too-sharp collarbones.

“Asra…” he called out into the dim room, though his voice was as cracked, broken, and weak as his body, “Asra…please…”  
  
Feeling his strength waning, Caelestra clasped his hand over his heart and reached out with what remained of his magic, searching for the comforting presence of his beloved. What he found was the barest sliver of warmth, accompanied by a flash of soothing, vivid colour that darted beneath his eyelids like nebulae curling through the darkness of the night sky. It wasn’t much, wasn’t truly _Asra,_ but it was something, enough to replace some of the icy chill in his veins with the warmth of familiarity and love.

It wasn’t much.

But it was enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When the attendant returned several hours later, moon high in the sky, Caelestra’s body was still and cold, unmoving. A grimace crossed over the man’s unremarkable features as he pushed a few strands of indigo hair out of Caelestra’s deathly pale face, revealing the blood that had dried to a ruddy crust upon his lips and below his nostrils. His eyes, thankfully, were closed.

No matter how many times he had to see this, it never truly got easier.

With a weak huff of disappointment and a lingering, prying sadness, he pulled up a fabric mask over his face and bent to lift the body off the cot, finding it far too easy. Caelestra had been taller than him, and at one point in his life, had probably outweighed him, too. Yet, carrying his corpse down the hall was far from a struggle, and in his arms, he felt like little more than a bag of bones, thrown together by a careless hand. Like every other plague victim that’d died within these unforgiving walls, he’d wasted away in no time at all, and had died as a fraction of who he’d been in life.

With surprising reverence, the attendant lay Caelestra’s body down on a gurney beside the roaring furnace, resting him beside several others who’d simply not been able to survive through the night. A muttered prayer was offered to gods he doubted would even listen, and after heaving a sigh, he threw open the door to the massive incinerator and stoked the flames higher, hotter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ferryman couldn’t get him there fast enough.

Asra’s whole body was a line of irrevocable tension, tanned skin made pale through the depth of his concern and the sick feeling of worry that wormed its way through his very core when he caught sight of the black, billowing smoke that plumed from the chimneys of the Lazaret. Something in his gut told him that things had gone very wrong, and that he was _too far, too slow, too late._

After all, when he tried to reach out to Caelestra, stretching out with every aspect of his being, he found nothing but the dull white noise of empty space where there ought to have been a brilliant, staggering light. Part of him, a part that he was desperately trying to ignore, told him what he just couldn’t bring himself to believe:   
  
He was already gone.

Shaking his head, he was quick to disembark the ferry when it reached the docks, rushing along the wooded pathways until he reached the imposing building that loomed over the ashen landscape. He pushed his way through the throngs of attendants and doctors, searching faces for someone who might carry the spark of familiarity that came from dealing with _his_ Caelestra. For a long while, his search along the maze of hallways and bunk rooms was fruitless, until he caught the flicker of lingering magic upon a rather innocuous looking attendant that stood beside a dying woman’s bed. He seemed kind enough, projecting an aura of care that didn’t gutter, even in the presence of so much death that pressed in on him from every side.  
  
Asra made haste.

“Excuse me,” he called, lifting up a hand to hail the man, expression lingering just over the edge of downright desperate, “Excuse me, there’s someone I need to see. His name is Caelestra. Is that name familiar to you?”  
  
The man, clasping a vial of some viscous-looking liquid, paused, glancing up at Asra with a bit of confusion in his gaze. Gears visibly turned inside his mind, undoubtedly searching through the memories of the hundreds of patients that flocked to the Lazaret every day on the wave of a crimson death knell. To him, they were all similar. All came here and none of them ever left.   
  
Asra, impatient, furrowed his brows and continued. “He’s Prakran. Indigo hair and eyes, has a tattoo on his lower lip and in the center of his forehead? Does that ring a bell to you at all, sir…? Even a little bit?”  
  
Another pause. This time, something like recognition flashed in the attendant’s expression, and for a split second, Asra dared to hope. A soft, tentative smile even bloomed upon his lips.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I remember him. I’m…listen, I’m very sorry, but…he passed in the night. His body has already been cremated…”

In that moment, Asra felt his heart stop.

Everything, from the sounds of the sick and dying to the rumble of the furnaces dimmed beneath the rush of blood in his ears, and dizzily, he paled, leaning against the nearby stone wall for support.   
Caelestra, _his_ Caelestra...was dead. He was too late.

_No. No, not this time. No. No, no, no._

Fueled by the most primal and ragged urge, the young magician pushed his way back out of the Lazaret, making a beeline for the black beach that bordered the dying forest. His haphazard steps lead him to the shore, and with ash falling from the sky above him, he dug his fingers into the sand and began to dig, shoveling it and shoveling it and shoveling it until his nails split and his fingers bled.  
  
He cried.

He cried because he had been too far, too slow, and too late.

But he’d make it right. Somehow, he would make it right. He had no other option.

_Caelestra. I’ll bring you home. I will, even if it breaks me…_

 

 

_(Here, have some art done by me of Caelestra. Enjoy!)_

__


	2. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extended take on the garden scene. Things get a little more heated, and the Apprentice learns some VERY fascinating things about the good doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in, and it's time I made good on some of those tags! I'm normally a lot slower than this, but this damn game has me wrapped around its inspiring little finger. I know this whole shebang is labeled explicit, but this is the first chapter that has any real explicit content in it, since the first was really just...death. This chapter includes: Julian liking pain, Caelestra liking that Julian likes pain, some erections (or maybe just one), and a lot of unresolved sexual tension. Also, I'm really wordy. Really wordy. I can't help it.
> 
> Recommended mood music: Acquainted by The Weeknd

The only word that came to Caelestra’s mind when he thought about his life since meeting Julian Devorak was _whirlwind._ Truly, no other word could so accurately summarize how things had gone since he’d caught the dangerously attractive doctor breaking into his shop.

Really, it’d started simply enough.  
  
Julian had come into his home, dark and brooding and oh-so infuriatingly unannounced, prompting the hairs at the nape of Caelestra’s neck to stand on end and his innate instincts to kick in. Before he had even bothered to respond verbally to the other man, he’d turned and clasped the nearest object (which happened to be a glass bottle, now empty, though it’d once contained some kind of tincture), and whipped it squarely at Julian’s pretty head. It’d missed him by barely an inch, crashing into the wall and sending up a spray of broken glass. The relatively brief conversation that followed Caelestra’s impulsive defense mechanism had been innocuous enough, leaving him curious about the strange, tragic doctor as he departed and stalked off into the night.  
  
Their subsequent meetings, however, were not nearly so brief, nor so withdrawn.  
  
Like a moth to a decidedly irritating flame, Caelestra had found himself gravitating towards Julian wherever he appeared, first in the marketplace, then again when he found him standing outside his shop yet again. Julian had stumbled over his words in an attempt to exempt himself from any sort of guilt or implication that he was trying once more to break in, and Caelestra, giving in to the pestering urge he had to reach out and _touch_ the doctor, had jumped at the opportunity to search him when Julian presented it to him.  That loose-fitting shirt had fallen open to expose the expanse of his pale chest and the smattering of auburn hair upon it, and in that moment, Caelestra was done for, reeled in and kept as he traced his elegant hands over any part of Julian he could reach. His nails had left pinkish trails in their wake, and Julian? Oh, how he’d shivered, repressing a sound that was far, far from dignified.  
  
And if he enjoyed a little too much, if he enjoyed the way the other man blushed and even _keened_ under his touch, what of it? It _really_ wasn’t his fault that Julian was gorgeous. Really.

It wasn’t his fault that he’d ended up bitten by the eel, either, and yet again, Julian was there to save his life and spirit him away on the wind of another adventurous maelstrom, leaving his thoughts whirling and his body struggling to process all of the feelings that rushed at it from every turn. The bite, the mark, the rush, the _tension_ …it was always like that, even now.

Now, he followed the still-bleeding doctor down forgotten alleyways, tugged along at his behest with his hand clasped securely in Julian’s spindly, leather-clad fingers. Guards were near, and regardless of the trustworthy aura Caelestra got from the Countess, the pair of them really couldn’t afford to be caught together, not when so much was still at stake for both of them.

“Julian, for goodness’ _sake,_ ” Caelestra huffed, inwardly thankful that his long legs could easily match the hasty stride that Julian had yanked him into, “Do you even know where we’re going?!”

“I know this city like the back of my hand! Just trust me!”  
  
_Trust._ Right.  
  
Caelestra rolled his eyes, but continued to follow along, footfalls heavy upon the damp cobblestones of the city streets. The section they found themselves in had clearly seen better days; many of the buildings were dilapidated and crumbling, covered in thick ivy, sporting numerous broken windows and aged, rusted gates that likely hadn’t been used in decades. Bitterness bloomed on the back of Caelestra’s tongue as he observed the rampant disrepair. How long had Vesuvia been falling apart like this? Why was it that no one lifted a finger to do anything about it?

Just as he was about to comment on it, the sound of metal sabatons clanging upon stone behind him diverted his thoughts. This was no time for introspection. The guards were gaining on them, and Julian’s way was just _not working._  
  
He thought fast, and didn’t even give Julian a chance to object.  
  
Ignoring the good doctor’s surprised yelp of protest, the Apprentice took a sharp turn and made for a small alcove that bore a wrought-iron gate. Julian eventually caught on, and with his help, the pair of them stumbled up and over it, falling gracelessly into a secluded garden, illuminated only by the light of the waxing moon and the glow of peculiar blue flowers that seemed to cling to almost every surface. The whole place was mostly obscured by thick vines, and from within, through an eroding archway, the clamor of the streets and the searching guards dimmed, bringing a measure of relief to Caelestra. Julian had helped him to his feet and brushed him off, then let him be to catch his breath. Time and curiosity brought both of them over to the remains of a fountain, upon which Julian promptly and briefly chose to lean, shifting his weight off the side that bore the evidence of the eel’s bite.  
  
His smirk had wormed its way back onto his lips. “Quick thinking back there, Caelestra,” he mused, muttering something about his ‘knack for discovering hidden beauty’ as a rather telling afterthought.  
  
The Apprentice rolled his bright eyes, chuckling softly to himself. “Don’t start. I don’t think it’s in our best interests to be caught right now, and I’m told I’ve _stellar_ instincts.”  
  
He was treated to a chiming laugh from the doctor. Perhaps restlessly, Julian wandered over to a grotesque bull statue and draped his arm around its broad shoulders, watching Caelestra with an expression that made his stomach jump. The smirk hadn’t faded, and now, his grey eye was flickering with something like rakish mirth, and against his better judgement, Caelestra approached him, delicately stepping over roots and fallen stones until he was sharing the doctor’s space. He paused when he was close enough to count the faint freckles that cascaded over Julian’s hooked nose, meeting his gaze unabashedly.  
  
“Quite the dangerous creature, isn’t it?” Julian asked, gesturing almost lazily to the statue. Caelestra only pressed nearer.

“I like a little danger, doctor…”

For a moment, it seemed as if Julian had more to say, expression sobering, but whatever lingered on the tip of his tongue was swallowed down, and instead, he offered only three more words: an instruction.

“Hold still, Caelestra.”

  
Somehow, Julian’s smirk widened as it returned. He reached forward, bridging the space between them as he plucked one of the glowing flowers from Caelestra’s shoulder, offering it out to him wordlessly. Fingers trembling slightly, Caelestra reached for it, only to be denied. Julian pulled back, twirling the flower between his thumb and forefinger. The tension between them was building to a fever pitch, crackling like electricity in the air as their eyes met and the Apprentice found his heart racing, fingers twitching and aching to touch. _Claim._ What was it about this man that drove him mad?  
  
“Careful, my dear. There’s poison in these petals,” he mused, humming in an almost idle manner, “Deadly starstrand. A single drop distilled from it could kill a newborn babe in its crib; it’s killed tyrants, kings, and people innocent and guilty. This flower could topple entire empires when held by a careless hand.”  
  
He held it out once more, seemingly pleased by the incredulity in Caelestra’s expression. “Still want it?”

Unfazed, Caelestra returned the smirk and shifted until they were pressed together from chest to toe, plucking the flower out of Julian’s hand. He briefly inhaled its bitter scent, then let it tumble from his grasp, observing with fascination as Julian caught it before it touched the ground.  
  
“It wouldn’t kill me like this,” Caelestra replied, full lips quirking upwards just a bit more, “You said it needed to be distilled. Tut-tut, Doctor Devorak. I pay close attention to important details.”  
  
This earned him another breathy laugh. Julian, wearing an expression that belayed no small amount of restrained hunger, reached up to tuck the bloom behind one of Caelestra’s ears, fingers playing lightly through the strands of his hair, then down to the curve of his jawline and across his warm, tanned skin. It was enough to have Caelestra gasping quietly in surprise, then humming in approval, the sound reverberating through his form and into Julian’s.  
  
In that moment, the tension in Caelestra coalesced, then snapped.  
  
Without pausing to hesitate, he leaned forward, snagging Julian’s collar with one hand as the other clasped his wrist. He used both to pull him into a bruising kiss, lips and teeth clashing almost desperately. Though he’d expected the doctor to pull away, he remained, falling pliant and needy in Caelestra’s insistent grasp, releasing something like a whimper as teeth found his lower lip and _pulled._ Caelestra smirked further, pride swelling in his chest as Julian’s hands wound in the long locks of his hair and tugged him nearer until there was no space left between them whatsoever, hearts pounding in tandem as their kiss deepened. Their tongues met, dancing hotly in a battle for dominance that Julian was all too happy to lose, surrendering easily to the advances of the charismatic magician.  
  
It wasn’t until Caelestra’s hands strayed to Julian’s waist that they parted, Caelestra drawing back as an actual _moan_ fell from the doctor’s parted, kiss swollen lips. He was blushing vividly, cheeks bright red in the bluish light dealt to them from the starstrand.  
  
At first, the Apprentice was quizzical. Surely, a simple touch like that couldn’t render Julian more aroused than the heat of their kiss. Gears turned in his head as he panted, trying to catch his breath. And then, he remembered.  
  
The bite.  
  
Smirk now downright _devilish,_ Caelestra pressed Julian more fully against the statue, digging his fingertips into the wound still oozing blood at Julian’s side. The reward for his efforts was another lurid moan from the good doctor, shameless and desperate. He grasped Caelestra’s wrist to keep him there, silently, _hopelessly_ begging for more that the Apprentice was all too keen to give him.  
  
As he dove back in for another kiss, his hand slipped beneath the hem of Julian’s shirt and pressed against his bare skin, teasing the damaged flesh with the blunt tips of his nails until the redhead whimpered. This time, Julian met him half way, kissing him breathlessly, lips eagerly parting for Caeletra when his tongue lapped insistently at the seam of his mouth. Each press of his fingers, each graze of his nails earned the magician another needy cry, and it wasn’t long before he felt the stiffness of Julian’s arousal against his thigh, twitching each time Caelestra’s actions sent pain ricocheting through his lanky form.  
  
“You _love_ it, don’t you?” Caelestra teased as he pulled back, shifting his head until he could place open-mouthed, suckling kisses along the column of Julian’s neck, “The pain. Look what it’s done to you. Look how _hard_ you are for me…”  
  
As if to prove his point, his other hand delved between the press of their bodies to palm roughly at the doctor’s growing erection. This time, there was nothing subtle about the ragged gasp that ripped itself from Julian’s throat. It was loud and it was haggard, accompanied by the shameless rut of his hips against Caelestra’s palm, legs spreading hopefully in welcome. He wore an expression that was downright obscene, cheeks cherry-red, eye half-lidded.

“Yes, Caelestra, G-God yes…” he babbled senselessly, giving the indigo locks he held a brief, suggestive tug, “P-Please, don’t stop. I need—“  
  
Just as Caelestra’s fingers ventured to delve beneath the waistband of Julian’s obscenely tight pants, the relative silence of their sanctuary was split by the sound of voices echoing just beyond the ivy-choked walls. The sound carried, bringing with it the cacophony of rustling metal armour and barked orders. The magician’s whole form sank, and a growl left his throat. Julian, still a mess and still achingly hard, could only laugh without much real humor.  
  
“Right on time. Guess we ought to get out of here before they catch us with our pants down, eh?”  
  
For the second time in the night, Caelestra rolled his eyes. Curse his luck. He was about to object, fully ready to defend the inane, insane idea of continuing their little tryst _right here, right now_ when Julian whisked him away again, leading him by the hand to the garden’s exit. Away from the guards, into another whirlwind he took Caelestra, glancing back at him with something like genuine joy darting into his handsome features.

Oh, yes. Caelestra was done for. He’d follow this foolish, reckless, dangerous man _anywhere._

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to my friend Chelsea for her aid in this whole...thing. She doesn't have an account here, but she knows who she is. <3


End file.
